


Meeting Uncle John

by therunawaypen



Series: Supernatural Tumblr Prompt Fills [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Gen, John was a Campbell, Winchester's go to London, finding Crowley's bones, season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 01:52:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therunawaypen/pseuds/therunawaypen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary Campbell had a kid brother John who was sent to the UK to avoid growing up in the Hunter lifestyle. </p><p>Years later, Sam gets in contact with his Uncle John when he and Dean need to find Crowley's bones.</p><p>John just hopes his nephews won't kill Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Hey. Can you do me a supernatural/Sherlock fic? John is really a Winchester but was sent over to England at a young age. He’s a hunter and when Dean an Sammy come to England to get Crowley’s bones they visit. Thanks! :)" -R

“You sure this guy can help us?”

“Yes, Dean. And I already told you, he’s not just a guy, he’s our uncle.”

“Well excuse me for not exactly having good experiences with the new relatives that keep popping up.”

Sam rolled his eyes, folding up his map of London. It had been a nightmare getting Dean over to England (he had been forced to endure Dean humming to Metallica for over 8 hours during the flight) and he wasn’t getting any better now that they were on the ground. Deep down, Sam knew Dean was always a nightmare because he had to leave his comfort zone. His brother was a simple man, change scared him more than all the ghosts and ghouls and demons they had to face.

So Sam had waited until they were on the on the plane before he mentioned Uncle John, their mother’s kid brother who had been sent to live in the United Kingdom to avoid the Hunter lifestyle. It was unreal, just how many family members they were finding these days, but based on the emails Sam had exchanged with their Uncle John, he seemed like trustworthy man.

Now to convince Dean of that.

“So is this guy going to pick us up or something?” Dean grumbled, shifting his bag onto his back.

Sam sighed, “Yes Dean. John said he’d meet us here, and he’d let us stay at his place for the night before we go and find Crowley’s bones.”

Dean nodded, “Good, because I’m jetlagged as hell here. Seriously, what is the damn time?”

“It’s 11 in the evening.” Said a soft voice behind them, causing both brother to whirl around, “Or 2300, if you prefer.”

John was…well, short, especially compared to the towering height of the Winchester brothers. He was also the most unassuming man they could picture. No one would ever think he came from a Hunter family.

“Go figure, we’ve got another military-John in the family.” Sam chuckled, extending his hand, “Sam Winchester, nice to meet you.”

John nodded, shaking Sam’s hand firmly, “John Watson.” He smiled, turning to Dean, “And you must be Dean.”

“That I am.” Dean smirked, shaking John’s hand, “So what’s happening in Mr. Roger’s neighborhood?” He nodded to the cream colored sweater John was wearing

At John’s confused look, Sam rolled his eyes, “Ignore my brother; he has a habit of being a smartass.”

“No, trust me, I know what it’s like to live with a smartass.” John chuckled, “Come this way, our cab is waiting.”

Sam smiled, following John to the cab that was waiting outside the terminal. John opened the door for him and Dean to get into the back seat and, after getting a good look at their cab driver, climbed in beside them.

“So where are we going?” Dean asked, watching as nighttime London passed them by.

“Well,” John started, “I thought you two could stay the night at my flat before we head up to find the grave you’re looking for. The bed in my room should be big enough for the two of you to at least get a decent night’s sleep.”

“John, we couldn’t kick you out of your own room.” Sam shook his head.

John smiled, “Well you two certainly won’t fit on the couch, and I refuse to have you sleep on the floor.” He chuckled, “I’ll probably sleep in my flatmate’s bed.”

The two brothers stopped, watching John carefully. Dean raised an eyebrow at the comment.

Realizing his mistake, John cleared his throat, trying to shake the blush on his cheeks, “My flatmate, he’ll probably be up all night working on an experiment, he won’t be sleeping…” He mumbled, “I’m not gay…”

Sam realized he was starting to see a bit of a family resemblance between John and Dean, but decided not to comment as the cab pulled up to a quiet London street.

John paid the cabbie, then proceeded to exit the vehicle, “Now, I do have one favor to ask both of you while you’re staying here.”

“You’re housing us, it’s the least we can do.” Dean shrugged, “What do you need?”

“I’d be very grateful if you refrained from trying to kill my flatmate.” John looked dead serious when he said it, “Please?”

Sam blinked, “I’m sure we’ll be fine.” After all, how bad could he be?

Bad.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I started writing this, and I realized that series three of Sherlock aired today. I have not seen it, so I have no idea how post-Reichenbach Sherlock works, so you'll have to forgive me for not including Mary or any series three mentions in this.

“I’m going to kill that son of a bitch…”

“Dean, don’t!”

John let out a long and tired sigh as he got himself a glass of water from the kitchen. He really should have expected as much when he realized he would be introducing his nephews to Sherlock, but one had to hope…

But judging by the out of tune sounds of the violin in the next room, that had been one hope that was simply too much. Faintly, he could make out the low rumble of Sherlock’s drawl. It was the speech pattern he used when he was making a deduction. For Sherlock’s sake, John hoped he was deducing Sam rather than Dean. Sam had struck John as the more level headed of his nephews.

The dull _smack_ of flesh on flesh told him that John had asked for too much with _that_ simple hope as well.

Footsteps entered the kitchen moments later, and John turned to find himself facing Sherlock, who was holding a hand to his nose.

John paused, looking at Sherlock for a moment, “…not broken, then?”

Sherlock shook his head slightly, “No break, a simple nose bleed. Your nephew had a terrible angle at which to throw his punch.”

The doctor rolled his eyes, gathering tissues for Sherlock to use to stop the bleeding. If that was the case, then Sherlock had gotten off incredibly lucky. John might not have lived the same life as his birth family, but he knew enough about their lives to know that his nephews had faced things stronger than humans were meant to face on a daily basis, which meant that either of his nephews could have easily killed Sherlock with their bare hands. It also didn’t help Sherlock that both Sam and Dean towered over Sherlock (alright, perhaps not so much towered as had a few inches on him, but considering how tall Sherlock was…).

“I can see why you haven’t kept in contact with your nephews, John.” Sherlock said as he dabbed tissues against his bleeding nose, “Psychotic disasters, the two of them, no doubt worse than Harry’s drama with her drinking. Ridiculously codependent on each other, father issues, anger management is obvious of course. No doubt your therapist would have simply loved to get her hands on those two.”

No doubt a therapist would have run screaming from the building if they ever tried to unravel the mind of a Hunter, “I didn’t keep in contact because I was adopted from a young age, and the boys were very young when their mother, my birth sister, died. I doubt they knew who I was until a few weeks ago.”

“Very odd, that they would choose to get in touch so suddenly.” Sherlock’s voice dropped, his low timbre barely above a murmur.

John knew that voice, it was Sherlock’s thinking voice, “Have you run out of cases then, that you are going to pester me and my nephews?” he tried his best so sound nonchalant. His best bet was to make Sherlock bored so he would lose interest.

The heavy footsteps that moved into the kitchen next were Dean’s. Obviously, Mary’s oldest son was still in a foul mood from whatever Sherlock had said, “You better not say another word about Sammy or me or so help me, I will strangle you with that damn scarf of yours.” He pointed a finger firmly at Sherlock, face set in a scowl.

Sherlock, of course, wasn’t fazed, “I find that people who try and kill me inevitably fail.” He said calmly, throwing away the tissue he had used to clean the blood from his nose, “And even on the rare occasion that I do die, I don’t stay dead.”

Deep down, John felt a chill run down his spine at the horrid memories of Sherlock’s fake suicide and the cold years that followed.

But Dean didn’t so much as blink, turning and returning to where Sam was waiting in the other room. John let out a sigh of relief, thankful the confrontation was over. Though that pretty much ended when he heard Sherlock muttering to himself again.

“No reaction to mentions of murder and death…familiar with both? But how? Not military, nor medical, obviously…”

John realized his nightmare was only beginning.


End file.
